


Saturday Night in the Seam

by Solaryllis



Series: Saturday Night Universe [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 19:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4362044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solaryllis/pseuds/Solaryllis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do people do for fun in District 12 when the threat of immediate death isn't hanging over them? An explanation for Gale's hostility toward Madge on reaping day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally published on FFN in July 2011; I'm trying to upload some of my stories here. This is a mostly fluffy piece set the autumn before The Hunger Games starts (before Gale realized he had feelings for Katniss).

" _The best thing about the Capitol basically ignoring Twelve all these years is that you people still have a little spontaneity." –_ Plutarch to Katniss, in _Mockingjay_ at Finnick and Annie's wedding

* * *

 Happiness is a full stomach and the cheerful jingling of coins in his pocket, more coins than he expected for such a rotten start to the day. Gale would whistle, but he doesn't want draw attention to their good fortune. Instead, he settles for grinning at Katniss, who's similarly cheerful. Not smiling, of course—first, because she's Katniss and second, because they're back inside the fence—though he recognizes a certain lightness to her eyes that wasn't there when they met at their rock in the pouring rain this morning. But the rain had cleared, the animals came out afterward to forage, and he and Katniss had ended up with their best haul of the year. And now, after dropping their bounty off at their homes and having successfully negotiated some killer trades at the Hob, he feels downright flush with cash. Just in time, too—Vick's been complaining about his shoes pinching his toes and the hand-me-down pair from Rory and Gale have utterly disintegrated.

"I'm not staying cooped up tonight," he announces. It's a perfect autumn evening and there's no school tomorrow—the perfect time to slip away and do some exploring outside the fence without having to worry about checking the snares or coming home empty-handed. "How about it?"

"Can't," Katniss says. "I promised Prim I'd help her make a new bed for Lady." She scrunches her nose in a gesture he recognizes as guilt. "I haven't spent much time with her lately."

"I didn't know you cared so much about goat feelings," Gale observes solemnly.

"Prim, not Lady," Katniss says quickly, and then studies him for a second, face cracking into the hint of a smile. She got it, just not right away.

"Tomorrow, then?" He's already eyeing the fence, picturing himself sliding back under it and decidedly not volunteering to help with unnecessary goat chores. Lady's old bed was fine; Prim is determined to spoil her. And more to the point, he's not intruding on sisterly bonding.

"Usual time," Katniss agrees. "See you then." She abruptly turns and starts down the street that leads to her house, her long braid swishing gently back and forth. He frowns as one of the Brickley brats stops her to ask some undoubtedly inane question—she looks taller than he'd realized, towering at least a foot and a half over the brat. They've had a good few months in the forest—maybe the calories are finally catching up with her.

He walks back toward the fence, deciding he's in the mood to head northwest tonight. It's too bad Katniss can't come, but he's not wasting this opportunity. As he approaches the fence, though, a feeling of dread starts to build in his chest when he senses the slight hum of electricity pulsing through the thin wires.

Even though he knows without a doubt the fence is on, he shoves a large branch toward it anyway. When the predictable crackling erupts, he hurls the stick angrily to the side and curses whatever is happening in town tonight that triggered the electricity to be turned on. He remembers hearing in school yesterday about some big event, but he tuned it out like he does with a lot of the town gossip that doesn't affect him. He should have known this day had been going too well.

He goes out of his way to kick every loose rock he can find as he trudges back to his house. His mood doesn't improve when he arrives home and is nearly run over by a pack of half-size boys pouring through the front door.

"Gale!" Rory pauses in the doorway, letting Vick and the rest of the boy mob tumble onward down the street without him. He's still breathless from what has no doubt been an entire day of running around with the other neighborhood kids. Gale feels sorry for their mother if this little gang has been zooming in and out of the house as much as he suspects. That was certainly how he operated at Rory's age. "Gale, everyone's playing Find the Coal Lump tonight! In the Meadow! Let's go!"

Gale looks at Rory like he's crazy.

"We need big kids on our team! _Come on!_ "

Nobody a day over 15 still plays in the all-neighborhood games. Well, nobody with any self respect.

"No, I'm busy." He picks Rory up under his arms and easily moves him out of the doorway.

"But our side could actually win this time if you—"

"Better catch up or you'll be picked last," Gale warns, and like he expected that's all it takes for Rory to get an alarmed look on his face and start sprinting down the street.

It turns out the situation is not much better inside the house. His mother and Mrs. Sawyer are sitting at the kitchen table, clearly gossiping up a storm, while Posy and the Sawyer kid are playing with the Hawthornes' worn set of wooden building blocks on the living room floor. Their father had made the set when Gale was little, and now the edges are so worn that the opportunities to build stable structures is suspect, although Posy and the Sawyer kid seem to be satisfied.

"Hey," he says to his mom and Mrs. Sawyer. There, bare minimum greeting satisfied and he won't have to hear about his rudeness later.

"We didn't expect you back so soon," his mother says, smiling up at him. "Everything all right?"

"Fine," he says, dropping the coins from the Hob into the jar on the top shelf of the cupboard. The numerous heavy plunks are satisfying to hear. "Vick needs shoes."

"We'll go to the cobbler's tomorrow. Would you like some tea, dear? Mrs. Sawyer was just telling me about poor Mr. Redding's back trouble."

"Uh, no thanks," Gale says, backing away from the table as quickly as he can.

His mother focuses on her guest again. "I'm so sorry for the interruption."

"Oh, no worries! But his back is only the beginning, Hazelle, you'd never believe what the poor man has to endure…"

Gale tries to escape before he inadvertently overhears something about foot fungus or worse, but he doesn't get very far because his leg has grown a three-year old girl. Posy. Leg-clinging is her latest gambit for attention.

"Pose, get off."

She looks up at him with wide eyes. "Don't you want to play with us?"

The Sawyer kid is also peering at him, but looks decidedly less set on having Gale join their game. The boy looks a little scared, actually.

Posy grips his leg even tighter and smiles up at him; this is how the game works. Now it's Gale's turn to moan and drag her around the house and pretend to kick her off, so he obliges. By the time he's shaking her off his leg onto the couch, she's squealing so loudly their mother looks over with an exasperated expression. That in itself makes him laugh, since for their mother to get annoyed at the game must mean it's beyond her usual high tolerance for noise. Or maybe Mrs. Sawyer's gossip _is_ more interesting than foot fungus.

"Sorry," he says, peeling Posy off. "Posy, no screaming, remember?"

She giggles for a few seconds and then recovers and slides off the couch. And then she abruptly knocks the block tower over, causing the Sawyer kid to gasp in shock.

"We're starting over," she decrees, daring the Sawyer kid to contradict her. He seems like he's confused about whether to cry or not.

Gale shakes his head in annoyance; hopefully either the kid outgrows his timidity or Posy makes some higher quality friends. He's pleased to see that she's running the show, though, and is glad their mom is so occupied with gossiping that she didn't witness Posy's outburst. She tries to curb Posy's dictatorial tendencies, but Gale doesn't want some wilting flower for a sister. He wants her to be strong, like Katniss, and if that means knocking over a few block towers here and there then so be it.

He inspects the living room for entertainment options, but nothing presents itself. He's stuck on the wooden bear he's carving for Vick's collection, there are no pressing repairs demanding his attention, and he's not touching that homework until a half hour before class on Monday morning. Maybe he can find Nate or Kellen.

"Going out again," he announces to his mother.

* * *

This was not what he had in mind. He found Nate and Kellen and somehow got conned into coming to town. To the community center. To a play being put on by jerks who have enough spare time in their lives on a regular basis to do something other than try to keep their families fed. Adding to the insult, it's some ridiculous love story with singing and _good God_ he honestly thinks he'd rather listen to his mom and Mrs. Sawyer gossip than keep sitting through this.

He glares at Nate and leans over. "You owe me."

Nate nods vacantly, focused on that town girl he's been chasing for the past couple of months. She's onstage singing—terribly, in Gale's opinion—and Gale thinks this performance alone would be enough to put Nate off her. But his friend is firmly entranced, so Gale slumps into his chair a little further. At least they're sitting in the back so he can observe the rest of the audience as entertainment.

He'd been surprised to find that the attendees were a decent mix of town and Seam residents—Kellen had been right in pointing out that the "community center" meant the entire community, not just town dwellers. There are several people from Gale's class in school, including a few girls he'd rather not have to encounter again on weekends because of past… dealings. He smoothly pretends to be absorbed in the play after he notices Willow Falk trying to catch his eye. They'd only lasted a couple of weeks before she'd started to get too clingy. Now she's just another reminder of one of the (admittedly more trivial) reasons why District 12 feels so confining.

Nate's crush screeches her way through another few songs before the torturous show finally ends, sending Gale springing to his feet and not because he thinks the performance earned the enthusiastic clapping the other standing audience members are showering on them. He's anxious to get back to the Seam; it had occurred to him while the mayor's daughter was playing some mild, boring tune on the piano during the intermission that if they could find enough fiddlers, they could get a Seam dance going. It's barely even dark out, and the weather is nice enough and people would probably be up for it. Longer hours have been dictated in the mines recently, but the mines are closed tomorrow and when people have to work this hard, they're usually up for a rousing stomp.

But one look at Nate confirms that his friend has other plans. "I'll be back," Nate announces before disappearing into the throngs of people.

"We might not be here," Gale warns Nate's retreating back. But he's too late.

Kellen nudges him. "Check it out. I suspected…" Gale follows Kellen's eyeline, already irritated that one of his friends is pining for a town girl and not sure he can tolerate a second, but Kellen's watching the mayor's wife carry a tray of small paper cups toward a table. Gale inches forward and when he's close enough, sees that the cups are filled with an orange-colored liquid. And then the mayor's wife just leaves the cups on the table for anyone to take—people are taking them, too, and not being yelled at.

Gale notices a line forming, leading to the table with the paper cups, and immediately falls in behind the baker's sons. When he reaches the table, he selects the cup with the most liquid inside and downs it on the spot. The liquid is fizzy and so sugary his mouth puckers in surprise. It's like thinner and better-tasting sleep syrup with an orange twist. He turns around to scan the room and then looks back to the cups. He could take another one—there are clearly more cups than people and nobody is guarding them. Kellen seems to be thinking the same thing, so with a grin they each take a second paper cup. Gale crumples the first one into his pocket to hide it as he downs the second one, and then makes a show of tossing the second one into the trash.

As he's smugly leaving the table, he notices the mayor's daughter watching him from the side of the room. Judging him for having taken two cups. He meets her frown with narrowed eyes, daring her to make a fuss. He thinks he's safe, though—she's lunch buddies with Katniss, and he and Katniss sell her family berries so the Undersees are complicit with his and Katniss' poaching, which suggests some tolerance for bending the rules. She'd also look pretty shrewish to tattle on someone for taking two paper cups of whatever that delicious liquid was. She gazes back at him coolly but doesn't make a move to say anything to her mother, who's standing right next to her and is busy chatting with the Head Peacekeeper.

That sugary liquid nearly made up for having to sit through the terrible play, and Gale finds that he's able to wait for Nate a little more patiently now. He and Kellen migrate toward a group of classmates, mostly people he knows from the Seam, although there are a few town kids mixed in. The divisions between town and Seam have been growing more pronounced the older they get, and now in their final year of school he can practically feel the guilt from his town classmates that they have cushy apprenticeships and jobs in town waiting for them while everyone else has to hope they can survive the mines.

After a while, Nate returns, wearing a dopey expression and accompanied by the screeching blonde from the play. Nate pulls Gale and Kellen aside to introduce them.

"This is Georgia," he says proudly. "Wasn't she great?"

Gale grunts and holds out his hand to shake hers in greeting. "I've never seen anything like this before."

"Thank you," she gushes to the non-compliment, and then greets Kellen, too. She starts talking about how nervous she'd been, but how nice it was to see the whole community coming together to support the hard work of the actors… Gale tunes out her chatter, biting back his urge to set her straight that he only came to the play because Nate dragged him and that the mystery orange liquid was by far the highlight of the evening.

When Kellen asks Georgia how long they had to rehearse, Nate pulls Gale aside. "There's a party after this," he says quietly. "At Georgia's house."

"You're invited?" He'd always assumed town kids had their own parties; Seam kids certainly did.

Nate nods anxiously. "She says her parents are open-minded…"

Gale doubts that, but he'll let the girl's parents be the ones to crush Nate's delusional hopes. "Well, good luck." He knocks Nate's shoulder, intending to give his friend an injection of fortitude to deal with a townie party and townie parents. "I'm going to try to find Orey and the others to see if we can get something going at the Clearing. See you Monday."

"No," Nate says urgently, grabbing Gale's arm. "You have to come."

"Not a chance." Gale shrugs off Nate. Even if he can't find the musicians, he'd rather take his chances with the gossip fest back home. Posy and her little friend will have to go to bed at some point; the moms can't keep going forever.

"Georgia told me to make sure you came, too," Nate admits. "I think one of her friends likes you."

Georgia drops even lower in Gale's estimation at this news, and he pauses to glare at her, which she doesn't notice because she's busy re-enacting a scene for a captive audience. "She should want to see you for you," Gale says sternly. "It shouldn't matter what I'm doing."

"She does," Nate defends. "If you came it would be a… bonus."

Gale keeps glowering in Georgia's direction. There's a reason he avoids town girls: in addition to being snobs they also invariably engage in these types of tactics. "I'm not leading on some town girl so you can win points."

"Just make an appearance, then leave," Nate says. "I cover for you all the time," he reminds Gale.

"I never ask you to," Gale snaps. He prides himself on dealing with his unwanted admirers directly. Just because Nate takes it upon himself to unnecessarily console them doesn't mean Gale owes him anything.

But Nate's wearing the same expression Vick does when he wants Gale to teach him card tricks. He can't say no to such pitiful desperation. "Fine. But I'm leaving as soon as humanly possible." Nate doesn't respond because he's already eagerly reporting back to Georgia.

Eventually the group migrates over to the basement of the doctor's house, where Gale's pleased to find a variety of snacks and drinks sitting out on tables on the side of a large room, making him almost reconsider what a bad idea this was. The fact that people in town have enough extra food to share at large parties is galling, and he does his part to help equalize the disparity. He's considering whether he could slide a few cookies into his pocket for Rory, Vick, and Posy when he notices a town boy, also helping himself to the cookies, watching him suspiciously.

Gale glares at the kid, who probably suspects Gale wanted to smuggle extra cookies away, until the kid backs off and pretends to casually walk over to a small group of town kids. But it's too late: Gale's already seething at the implied accusation that people from Seam steal and don't belong at parties like this. It wouldn't have been stealing—the stupid cookies are just sitting out and that snotty kid already shoved at least three into his fat mouth.

The allure of the cookies soured, Gale turns his attention—but not his body, he won't give the town kid the satisfaction of yielding the snack table territory—to the rest of the room. He's mildly surprised to observe how many of his Seam friends ended up coming to this party, and presumably not through manipulation and coercion. Maybe they were similarly enticed by the possibility of free food; nearly everyone is nibbling on something. When he notices that the town kids are also taking seconds and thirds of the cookies, too, he relaxes slightly.

One of Georgia's friends keeps tossing her hair and looking over her shoulder in his direction, but he carefully avoids eye contact. Besides being from town (strike one), she's not actually that pretty (strike two) and he heard her bragging to someone else about how much money her parents make at their furniture store (surely even the town kids can agree that's tacky: strike three). Instead he entertains himself by watching Katniss' lunch friend, the mayor's daughter, who's clearly on an awkward date and doesn't appear to have Gale's skill at eluding uninteresting people. Her date keeps inching closer to her and leaning in to whisper things to her and she keeps backing away, possibly without realizing it. Maybe the kid has bad breath. When the guy tries to rest his hand on the small of her back, the mayor's daughter stumbles backward and mumbles something about getting them drinks.

Out of boredom, Gale walks over to the drink table at the same time and stands behind her to wait until she's finished. He'll have one more cup of punch for the road and then ditch this place; that will have to be good enough for Nate. As the mayor's daughter is using the ladle to fill two glasses with punch, he studies how her wavy blonde hair is actually made up of strands of multiple colors—some are so light they could be white, others are yellow, and some could be brown. It's strange to see the variety up close.

But her hair is ultimately not that interesting and he begins to suspect she's taking her sweet time with the punch because she's trying to avoid Mr. Gropey. Before he can stop himself, he's offering unsolicited advice to her.

"Just tell him to back off if you don't like him."

The mayor's daughter flinches and drops one of the cups into the punch bowl. She looks over her shoulder to glare at Gale before she starts delicately fishing out the submerged cup.

"You scared me," she says unnecessarily, successfully extracting the cup and attempting to dry it off with one of the napkins.

He steps up to the table and hands her another napkin, which she accepts wordlessly and then starts re-filling the cup. Gale realizes he's never spoken directly to her before, despite seeing her several times a week when he has to confer with Katniss at lunch time about their hunting schedule _("Today?" "Yes." "Bring the new wire." "Fine."_ ) or when they sell things to the mayor's family. He lets Katniss handle the negotiations with the Undersees since she's more invested. Plus that way she can pull her weight while he interacts with some of their more unsavory customers. He prefers to minimize Katniss' contact with the particularly skeezy Peackeepers.

The mayor's daughter must be thinking of Katniss, too, because she says, "I didn't see Katniss tonight. She wasn't enticed by the free juice and cookies?"

He doesn't deny her implication that the primary attraction of both the play and the after-party was the free nourishment. He sat through that play and he's enduring this party; he's earned whatever he's consumed. Plus, he'd rather people think his motivation in attending these events was mercenary rather than because he wanted to, because he definitely did not want to.

"She's with Prim tonight," he says. That sounds better than saying Katniss was more inclined to hang out with a goat than spend an evening in the forest with Gale. "More free juice and cookies for the rest of us."

"More for some than for others," the mayor's daughter says, raising her eyebrows at him. He knows she saw him take the extra juice; maybe she also saw him helping himself to the snacks at this party. Well, so what—everything was sitting out for the taking and he'd have been a fool not to take advantage of it. Then she picks up her two glasses filled with punch. "And I didn't ask for your advice on manners."

"It's not manners," he corrects, a little disgusted that she has any confusion on this issue. "If you don't like someone, tell them to back the hell off."

She looks confused and then smiles sweetly at him. "In that case, please _back the hell off_."

He's so shocked he doesn't process the insult right away, but when it sinks in as she walks away he starts to get annoyed. She shouldn't like that jerk town kid who's all over her; _Gale's_ never done anything to earn her annoyance. He's always either been perfectly civil or ignored her, which counts as civil in his book.

He slumps back against the wall to focus his energy on glaring at the mayor's daughter. That kid she's with probably only likes her because she's rich, and the fact that she's putting up with him despite clearly loathing him just illustrates her own poor character. He wonders if Katniss knows her lunch buddy is like this. They don't seem to talk much at lunch; it's possible the mayor's daughter has been hiding her true nature from Katniss this whole time. He'd better keep an eye on her so he can warn Katniss.

The mayor's daughter returns to her date and hands him the cup of punch, and sure enough, after a few minutes the creep tries to snake his spindly little arm around her waist. Surprisingly, though, the mayor's daughter responds by smoothly stepping back and pulling him aside. Gale watches as she hands him her punch glass, touches her head briefly with a wince, and then starts to walk away. It's obvious she's making excuses about having a headache and leaving the party. Maybe not being as forthright as she should, but it's possible she's not as lame as he suspected. And then to Gale's shock, she looks straight at him and very subtly shrugs as she winds through the other guests on her way to the door.

He smirks at her. Maybe he won't have to give Katniss a hard time about her choice in lunch buddies after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Madge skips down the front stairs of Georgia's house, relieved to be walking home unaccompanied. She'd told Harold she was getting a headache and was going to leave, but insisted that he stay and enjoy the rest of the party without her. He had made the appropriate token effort to walk her home, but she'd declined, pointing out she only had to walk to the other end of the town square. Now she's free of both his wandering hands and her mother's expectations that she socialize more.

On the way home, she ducks into the community center to check if there are any extra programs from the play. It had been so romantic… Why couldn't real life be more like that, instead of smells-like-old-potatoes Harold? The lead actress wasn't much of a singer, but she had been decent enough and Madge was mostly proud that District 12 had managed to pull off an actual theatrical production. Her father had requested special permission from the Capitol's Office of Culture for the district to put on this play, claiming that the script had strong messages of obedience to authority—an exaggeration, but it was enough of a hook that the guy in the office who owed him a favor could approve it. Madge knew her father was primarily worried about a miners' strike erupting, and that he thought a unifying distraction for the district was the best temporary fix he could manage.

Madge had enjoyed being part of the production, too, even if only tangentially with her piano performance during the intermission. She hadn't attended the rehearsals and hadn't felt like she belonged in the same way those who'd been in the cast and crew did (when does she ever?), but it had been exhilarating to perform publicly and to imagine that some tiny fraction of the applause had been for her.

She locates the extra programs stacked neatly near the stage and takes a few. Opening one, she gets chills when she reads: _Margaret Undersee . . . Piano, Themes and Variations_. She can include this program in her portfolio next year when she applies to the Capitol's Music Academy. Maybe she could even use the song she composed for the intermission as her audition piece…

She emerges from the community center and starts home again, only to discover Katniss' friend Gale talking to three other Seam boys in the middle of the street. She hesitates; she has to cross exactly where they are to get to her house. It's not that she's scared of them, but they're the kind of people who are practically proud of their resentment. She's too easy a symbolic target for most to resist, which is another reason leaving District 12 for the Music Academy is so appealing. If she's going to be categorized, she'd rather be thought of as a musician than a mayor's offspring.

Gale turns in her direction the second she steps onto the first stair leading away from the community center. It's a little spooky, and helps her understand why he's such a good hunter. They had an almost-conversation at Georgia's house—would it be rude for her to cross the street without speaking to him? Do the same etiquette principles apply to people like him? He didn't appear to mind that she'd told him to back off, based on the fact that he'd smiled approvingly after watching her get out of the Harold Situation… Maybe he realized that her rudeness had been justified by his own rudeness, intruding in her business and acting like he had the right to boss her around.

Before she can decide whether to skirt their little group completely, she overhears one of the boys say, "Ask her. She'll know."

They're all looking at her, so she pauses near their group, curiosity taking over. "Ask me what?"

"Was that party better or worse than most town parties?" one of Gale's friends asks, a boy she doesn't recognize which means he's probably in Gale's grade in school.

Madge briefly examines the thin straps on her white sandals, not wanting to admit the truth, and settles for a shrug. That was actually the first party with kids her age she's attended, and she only went because Harold invited her right in front of her mother.

"Why do you want to know?" She hopes diverting their attention will allow her to avoid mentioning her pitiful party attendance statistics.

"There wasn't any music," one of the non-Gale boys says. "It didn't feel like much of a party."

"But it did have free food," one of the others points out, as though this might outweigh the lack of music. Madge realizes she's intruding on an ongoing debate.

"It had no soul," Gale weighs in. "There's no comparison."

"With what?" Madge asks.

"Dances in the Seam," Gale says simply, as though it's obvious that Seam dances are far superior to town parties.

Madge doubts that—everyone in the Seam looks so downtrodden and their lives are so difficult, they surely don't have anything to be happy about. Katniss sure doesn't seem very happy at school.

Gale notices her expression and narrows his eyes at her. "Is that so hard to believe? That something about the Seam is better than something in town?"

Frankly, yes, but it seems cruel to point out that their lives are plagued by poverty and hardship. Gale seems to interpret her hesitation as an admission and turns his attention back to his friends, shifting his stance slightly to block Madge from the conversation. "You said Orey and the others were setting up already?"

One of the other boys nods. "He and Henrietta said to spread the word so we came up here."

"Let's go," Gale says decisively, corralling his friends with his arms to nudge them along the street and continuing to ignore Madge.

One of his friends breaks off and starts walking backward in the direction of Georgia's house. "I'm going to tell the others still in there."

"Even the—" the boy who's speaking catches himself and glances at Madge uneasily, making it plain that he's in disbelief that the other boy might be inviting town kids. "Everyone?" he amends.

The boy who's backing up toward Georgia's house shrugs. "Why not?"

Gale looks similarly surprised and unhappy with this development, but when his eyes stray toward Madge's glare he says smoothly, "The more, the merrier. You coming, Undersee?"

It's obvious he expects her to decline and is only inviting her so he'll be free to silently condemn how sheltered and privileged she is forever after. He's probably itching for more justification to ignore her as he confers with Katniss during lunch, or when he flanks Katniss like a bodyguard on the Undersees' back porch during their sales calls. Madge won't give him the satisfaction. And, admittedly, there's a part of her that's curious now about what could be so great about these Seam dances.

She looks over at her house, shining brightly like a fortress against the darkness. Her parents won't expect her home yet, and probably would be disappointed if she showed up this early. It would be better if her mom at least was in bed already by the time Madge got home, so she could avoid another awkward conversation about the perils of being too picky.

"If you ask, they'll say no," Gale predicts.

He's right, but she doesn't necessarily want him to know that and she's a little annoyed that he knew what she was thinking. And her parents wouldn't be entirely out of line by not wanting her roaming around the Seam at night; a quick glance down the dark road that leads to the Seam confirms her impression that it's even more ominous at night than during the day.

"I'll get you home in one piece," Gale throws in, the tiniest hint of sarcasm in his tone.

Are her thoughts really this transparent? Further annoyed, Madge studies Gale, standing with his arms crossed aggressively and making it extremely difficult for her to get out of this. _If_ she wanted to get out of it, which she doesn't. She decides that despite his inherent rudeness, she does trust that he wouldn't let anything happen to her, either because they're both friends with Katniss or because he's too shrewd to risk losing her family's business.

So she nods slowly. "How can I have an informed opinion about how the parties compare if I don't experience both, right?"

If Gale's surprised, he doesn't show it. He just jerks his head so she'll follow them, and Madge suddenly feels very daring: she's going to the Seam. At night. She detours to stuff the extra programs into her mailbox and then follows Gale and his friends away from the pale yellow skirts of light cast by the wrought iron lampposts lining the town square.

The boys swiftly resume what must have been an earlier conversation about how excruciating the play was. Madge listens in embarrassment as they ridicule all the things she'd enjoyed about it, particularly the love story, which they can't even mention without dissolving into scorn-fueled laughter.

"And that girl with the purple wig?" Gale's friend gasps between chortles. "After her boyfriend took off, she just fell over like suddenly she couldn't handle standing up anymore—when has that _ever_ happened?"

Gale and the other boy immediately seize on the opportunity to rib their friend about his apparently rotten track record with girls, but Madge remembers how moved she'd been by that moment in the play. She thought it had shown how deeply the girl had been caught in the sweet despair of lost love, which these crude boys clearly don't understand… But before she can add her opinion she realizes they've moved on to critiquing the music. To that, she _has_ to speak up.

"The singing, all right, was a little off-pitch," she says, "but the score itself was beautiful. Did you notice how each character had a theme and that when characters had scenes together, their themes were interwoven?"

The boys stare blankly at her, triggering Madge to hum the main character's theme until they start to nod in recognition. She gets excited that they understand and uses several other characters' themes to help make her point.

"How could you hear all that?" Gale asks.

"I've been studying the score," she says with a smile, pleased to be able to talk about music with other people. She had spent hours with the score and the script so she could compose the intermission piece, arranging a gentle, unobtrusive summary of the action in the play's first half with hints at events coming up in the second half. Composing was the perfect quiet activity for those days when her mother's headaches were too intense for normal practicing.

It's fun to have something to talk about with them—she never would have guessed she could hold a real conversation with these future miner types. Maybe that's what her father had intended by ensuring residents from both town and Seam were invited to the play. They were exposed to a little culture (though they don't seem to appreciate it) and now she's an ambassador of town, bravely venturing into the Seam.

Gale and his friends easily navigate the narrow, twisting streets to a small, open area near the scraggly trees that divide the Seam from the entrance to the mines. One of Gale's friends explains that they call this area "the Clearing" and that it's far enough away from the homes that the music won't disturb anyone. A group of young people is already gathering—word spreads quickly—and Gale orders some of them to make sure the dancing area is free of branches and rocks. He tells some other people to start making the bonfire and instructs them on what to say when the Peacekeepers stop by on their patrols. He's a little bossy, Madge thinks, but people happily do what he says, and nobody seems concerned about the Peacekeepers; it seems these events are fairly routine.

"Come on, let's get Katniss," he tells Madge after he's assured himself that everything is under control with the musicians and the preparations. She brightens at the possibility of seeing Katniss and scurries to keep up with Gale, who walks quickly. She's grateful he's not leaving her with all those other Seam people she doesn't know; most had been watching her warily, possibly recognizing her as the mayor's daughter. She hopes Gale's friend can convince some of the town kids from Georgia's party to come to this dance so she won't stand out as much. It's not just her hair color; nobody else is wearing a white dress, or white anything, and she suspects the number of patches she's seen tonight on clothes could make the world's largest quilt.

Madge has no idea how Gale knows where he's going, but soon he's unlatching a low, rickety gate and they're walking through a small, tidy yard of hard-packed earth toward a house not much larger than the Undersees' garage. Shockingly, there's a goat sleeping on a gaudy pink and purple mat in the yard. It hears them open the gate and lifts its head to stare unblinkingly at Madge as Gale knocks on the front door, triggering Madge to scoot a little closer to Gale in case the goat decides to attack.

Gale notices her proximity and frowns down at her.

"There's a goat over there," she whispers, hoping voices don't provoke it.

"That's just Lady," he says scornfully.

Madge vaguely recalls Katniss mentioning that her sister has a pet named Lady and realizes that if Katniss' sweet little eleven-year old sister can handle the goat, then it's probably not dangerous. But she keeps her eye on it just in case.

After what feels like a long time, Katniss' mother answers the door, squinting and holding her threadbare brown robe closed at the neck. "Gale? Is everything all right?"

Gale has the decency to look embarrassed, and Madge feels bad as well. It hadn't occurred to her that Katniss' family might be asleep already. Gale's voice becomes much more polite and respectful than Madge is used to hearing. "Is Katniss still awake? We're throwing together a dance at the Clearing. Last minute."

Katniss' mom shakes her head and squints in confusion at Madge. "She's been asleep for some time. Margaret? Is that you? I haven't seen you in years."

"Hi," Madge says weakly. "It's good to see you again, Mrs. Everdeen." She smiles, but inwardly she's panicking. This is exactly the type of incident that could trigger Katniss' mom to reinitiate contact with Madge's mom. "I'm sorry to disturb you."

"It's fine," Mrs. Everdeen says, growing more alert and starting to frown slightly as she looks between Madge and Gale.

Gale starts backing away from the door. "Sorry, Mrs. E. Tell Katniss I'll see her tomorrow like usual."

Mrs. Everdeen nods, and casts one more indecipherable look at Madge before closing the door. Madge hurries to catch up with Gale, who's already walking at his fast pace down the street. He seems agitated, which is surprising since if he truly cared about not waking other people up he should have been more aware of how late it is. And _he's_ not the one whose mom is going to have a fit if she hears about this excursion. But it wouldn't be polite to say that.

They walk in silence for a few minutes and then Gale says, "Your name is Margaret?"

"I go by Madge."

"Oh." He sounds like that's equally new information to him.

"What did you think my name was?"

"I didn't." He doesn't shrug with his body so much as his tone.

"So I'm just 'the mayor's daughter'?" This probably shouldn't sting as much as it does, and Madge is surprised she isn't used to it by now. But as far as she can tell, she and Gale are Katniss' only friends and Madge at least knows and cares that Gale has a first name and isn't merely 'Surly Poacher Boy.'

Gale at least looks slightly uncomfortable. "Or, 'Katniss' friend.'"

Madge can't help herself from a very unladylike snort to convey that that isn't much of an improvement.

"How do you know Katniss' mom if you've never been to her house?" Gale asks, clearly trying to change the subject.

She guesses her surprise at encountering the goat and her inability to navigate the Seam gave her away as never having been to Katniss' house before. It's a boundary Katniss imposes on their friendship that Madge has never pushed.

"Our mothers were friends growing up. When her mother lived in town. My mom introduced me to her once." While Gale quietly mulls that information, Madge voices her concern about having seen Mrs. Everdeen. "She might tell my mom I was here."

Gale pauses and turns to look at her. Slowly he grins with the same taunting quality that seems to be as much a part of him as his comb-averse hair. "Well, then, you'd better make sure tonight is worth it."

Madge gazes back at him and says coolly, "Then I guess _you'd_ better make sure this event lives up to the hype."

He half-chuckles and resumes walking. "You're on, Undersee."

By the time they return to the Clearing, a significant crowd has gathered, including, to Madge's relief, faces she recognizes from Georgia's party. Georgia herself is here, sticking very close to a Seam boy Madge can concede is cute in a scruffy way. Gale dives into ordering people around again, so Madge slips off to stand near some of the town kids, who seem just as out of place as she feels. She isn't really friends with any of them, but they're at least are aware she has a first name.

Peeta Mellark is scanning the other attendees anxiously as though he's looking for someone, and when he spots Madge he pushes through the crowd to approach her.

"Hi Madge," he says, glancing behind her. "You here by yourself?"

She sees Gale talking to (bossing around, most likely) a boy holding a fiddle on the other side of the clearing. Does walking here with Gale and his friends count as being here with them? Probably not; none of them are paying the slightest attention to her.

"By myself."

"Oh." Peeta sounds disappointed and keeps looking around the clearing.

Madge must be destined for a career in invisibility. She clears her throat until Peeta actually looks at her again.

"So even Georgia abandoned her party?"

"Her parents wanted to go to bed," Peeta explains. "And after the food was gone, people started to leave anyway. Half came here, half went to Harold's."

That explains why Harold isn't among the group of town kids. Madge is kind of relieved, and hopefully if her parents hear about Georgia's party ending early they'll assume Madge went to Harold's house. Most likely they won't hear anything, though; her mother has probably already succumbed to unconsciousness and her father is no doubt immersed in papers in his study.

When Madge hears the slow tones of instruments being tuned shift into the opening bars of a lively tune, she turns in fascination to watch the rag tag group of musicians: they're almost like the real orchestras she's seen on TV. Different instruments, of course—fiddles, banjos, harmonicas and a homemade drum rather than a symphony—but the only other musical instruments she's ever seen in District 12 are pianos, one in her family's parlor and one in the community center. These musicians are skilled, too: precise yet coordinated, able to read one another as though they're a single being. She's so engrossed she doesn't realize she's missing out on the beginning of the first dance until a Seam girl with a kind smile explains where she should stand in the formation.

It takes a few songs, but by copying the girl next to her Madge slowly loosens up and gets a feel for the music. It's more disorderly than her piano repertoire—she's never quite sure when one of the fiddlers is going to veer off on an energetic solo, or how that affects the dances. So she stumbles a few times, but nobody seems to care and helpful arms are always nearby to steer her in the right direction or steady her. Gale even catches her once, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing both of her hands with his.

"You think you can handle the Twirl Swirl Upchuck Hurl, Undersee?" he yells over the music and laughing voices, grinning at her and pulling her with him deeper into the sea of people.

"It sounds terrible!" she shouts, clinging to his hands through the jostling bodies as he walks backward.

"It is," he laughs. "The goal is to not throw up or fall over." Gale looks over his shoulder and nods at the musicians, who switch into a lower pitched melody punctuated by the steady plucking of a chord on the banjo. The people standing nearby take generous steps back from Gale and Madge and he slowly starts to move in a circle, grasping her hands tightly. "Hold on," he warns.

Good advice, because the faster they start spinning the harder it is to avoid being flung into the surrounding blur of people. The plucking banjo's pace steadily increases and then the fiddle kicks in with a frenzy of scales. Then suddenly all the instruments pause and Gale stops moving, catching Madge when she tumbles into him.

"Switch!" a voice calls, and then the music starts up again, sounding _backwards_ somehow and perfectly matching the fact that they're now spinning in the opposite direction. They pick up speed again, and Madge tries to focus on Gale's eyes so she won't keel over. She's never seen him smile in this way before and it's mesmerizing. She's dimly aware of people clapping at an increasing cadence all around them, but it's like she and Gale exist in their own strange little orbit.

The music keeps building and then all of a sudden, the music and the clapping stop. Silence blasts into her ears and she registers Gale releasing her hands. _Eyes, gorgeous gray eyes._ If she can keep staring at his eyes she can stay upright. She can manage this.

…or so she thought. She hadn't counted on him blinking and taking a lurching step toward her. Reaching out to stop him from falling, she grasps only air and topples over, landing half on the ground and half on a warm mass of muscles shaking with laughter. It's infectious and she finds herself starting to laugh, too, the only thing that makes sense amidst the confusing spinning images her eyes are still sending to her brain. Closing her eyes doesn't even stop the unsteadiness and she has to clutch Gale so she doesn't fall off the earth.

She can hear a less frenzied song start up again and feels the stomping of shuffling feet resuming the dance, presumably skirting around the pair of them collapsed on the ground. That makes her laugh even harder: picturing everyone else blithely stepping over the fallen victims of over-exuberant spinning. The dance must go on. After a few more disorienting moments Madge can open her eyes again and blinks several times before she focuses on Gale, who's still laughing from where she's partially pinned him.

His laughter eventually peters out and he sighs happily but makes no effort to sit up or push her off his chest, despite the fact that she must be squishing him. Madge is shocked that she doesn't care how inappropriate she's behaving tonight: lying in coal-flecked dirt with a boy her parents would hate, after just having made a public spectacle of herself. But it was much too fun to regret.

"Good job," Gale finally says, sitting up slightly and triggering Madge to move all the way off his chest and sit next to him. She's still feeling a little dizzy, but she isn't sure she can blame it entirely on the dance. "You didn't throw up. Impressive for your first time."

"Why? Have you thrown up?"

"I never throw up," he declares. He grins slyly at her and she feels distinctly aware of being at a disadvantage on his turf. Then his eyes drift over her body and he frowns slightly. "Uh, sorry about your dress…"

Madge looks down at her formerly white dress, now smudged with browns and blacks from the soil. She starts laughing again: at least she understands now why no one in the Seam wears white. She tries to dust some of the dirt off and shrugs. "It's salvageable."

"Probably, with the right treatment," he says slowly and then stands up and pulls her to her feet as well. She tries to dust more of the dirt off and Gale helps until he brushes a little too close to her backside and pulls his hand back quickly as though it caught fire. Madge pretends to twist around to the opposite side with her dusting so he won't see her amusement at his strange attack of propriety.

"Don't worry about it," she says, and then turns to smile reassuringly at him. He smiles back at her and his face seems softer somehow, in contrast to the collection of snide, playful, and taunting expressions he's been favoring her with all evening.

"Gale!" A dark-haired girl wearing a short skirt appears suddenly and tugs on his sleeve. "A Clockwork Reel is next, come on." She starts pulling him into the crowd and pauses to smile briefly at Madge. "Good to see you here."

Madge smiles back automatically, but feels a strange sense of loss as Gale is dragged into the pulsating crowd again. Then she shakes it off and scrambles to find a place in the new formation and to follow along with this new dance. It's another lively one, but she's picking up on the footwork and sense of rhythm more quickly now and soon she's immersed in the music and the throngs of people once again.

Any lingering ideas she might have had about leaving early drift away like the smoke from the crackling bonfire: now that she'll have to explain her dress she's definitely in for some trouble with her parents and she might as well enjoy herself to the fullest extent possible. Like Gale suggested.


	3. Chapter 3

The remainder of the dance hurtles onward in a kaleidoscope of spirited music, airborne dust kicked up by pounding feet, and shrieking laughter. The twisting and twirling warm bodies conspire together to fend off the chill of the autumn night air, and in what feels like no time at all to Madge, people slowly start retreating from the clearing and the songs melt into a soft trickle. When the last dance disbands, Madge feels a sweet disappointment that the music and the fun are over, although the nostalgia is almost immediately replaced by rising anxiety as she looks around and doesn't see any other townspeople—she'd been hoping to walk back with some of her classmates. Then she remembers Gale's promise to get her home and to her relief she sees that he hasn't left yet: he's reclining on his elbows in the grass with one of his friends they'd walked here with, looking relaxed and content in the low light from the dwindling bonfire.

He grins when he notices her approaching and sits up. "Guess your headache went away?"

Madge feels her cheeks warming at his reference to how she ditched Harold. "Who knew dancing could cure headaches?"

She doesn't even mind the triumph in his answering smile; she can't begrudge him a valid victory, not when she had more fun this night than she can ever remember. Wistfully watching the last fiddler leave the clearing with a friendly nod at Gale, Madge wishes there had been a way to record some of the songs so she could listen to them again later.

Gale and his friend stand up and lazily brush dirt and pine needles off their clothes. "Come on, Undersee, we'll walk you back," Gale says.

"Actually," his friend says, glancing at a dark-haired girl leaning against a nearby tree, "I'm going to—" He trails off when the girl waves at him and doesn't bother making the rest of his excuse because he's already walking away. Gale laughs indulgently and doesn't seem to mind being left behind.

"Where are they going?" Madge asks. They're holding hands and walking toward a narrow pathway through the trees, but there aren't any houses in that direction, just the mines.

"Probably the slag heap," Gale says with a shrug.

That doesn't make any sense, but Gale's already leaving the clearing for the road to town so she hurries to catch up with him. Away from the bonfire the darkness seems to leap forward, with just enough light to make out the rough outlines of the narrow road, and they have to walk slowly to avoid the largest rocks. Gale treads so quietly she can barely hear the pebbles shifting below his shoes. She can't see his expression, so she fills in her mental image with the memory of the tender way he'd looked at her after they had fallen on the ground together. What a contrast he is tonight from the stone-faced boy who visits her house with Katniss.

"Those musicians are really good," she ventures, feeling the need to fill the silence.

"They're the best," he agrees, pride evident in his voice. "They get a lot of time to practice when the electricity's off," he adds.

She detects a hint of bitterness in his comment and isn't sure how to respond so she tries to steer the conversation back into positive territory. "You know what my favorite part of the whole night was? That people from the Seam came to the play in town, and people from town came out here for this dance."

"So?"

"Well… I think it's good to not let the divisions isolate us."

"You know why that happens, don't you?" Gale asks.

"I guess partly it's because we don't have much in common," Madge says thoughtfully, thinking about how tonight was the first time she's had a full conversation with anyone from the Seam other than Katniss or her family's staff.

"No, it's because people from town can't look people in the Seam in the eye and know that they're letting them starve," Gale says bluntly.

It feels like he's accusing _her_ personally of causing his neighbors' hardships and she feels instantly defensive. "That's the Capitol's fault, not the people in town!"

She immediately clamps her hands over her mouth, surprised she blurted out something so treasonous. On instinct, she scans for nearby people who might have overhead, but the dark outlines of trees and the distant weak light from the streetlamps up ahead are all she sees.

"Um, you won't tell anyone I just said—"

"Who would I tell? Your dad? I'll try not to mention it the next time I sell him illegal berries," he mutters.

Madge feels stupid for even asking; of course Gale isn't an informer. But her bigger concern is revealing how easily she _thinks_ treasonous thoughts, which he might connect to reflecting the general atmosphere in the Undersee household. Her father has always considered the Capitol a necessary evil to be consulted with as infrequently and disingenuously as possible, and Madge has to constantly remind herself not to let her disdain show when she's in public. _'Get what we can out of them and keep our heads down,'_ has been her father's attitude.

Deciding she's better off keeping her mouth closed, Madge abandons conversation and quietly follows Gale. She doesn't think he'd reveal to anyone that she doesn't necessarily buy into the Capitol's propaganda, but she feels uneasy giving away anything about her father.

As they pass the last houses of the Seam, the quality of the road improves and it's easier to see since more of the streetlights are in good repair. They're still not quite in town yet, though, and thin stands of trees line the roadside rather than buildings. She can see Gale's face more clearly now—he looks as serious as ever, though occasionally he glances at her out of the corner of her eye as though he's trying to figure her out. She's trying to figure him out, too.

Suddenly she can't see him anymore—the streetlights all winked off at the same time, leaving them in stunning darkness. By straining her eyes, Madge can only pick up the hint of a dim glow from what must be the town square over a mile away. It must be much later than she thought, since only Power Grid One—which supplies the buildings directly on the town square—is still active. Power Grid Two is off more frequently and always by a certain late hour each night to prevent people from frivolously using electricity, and she and Gale must be within Grid Two's territory.

She's never encountered darkness this thick and tries to quell the fluttery unease building in her chest. Instinctively she reaches out for Gale, needing him as an anchor against the void. She ends up with a handful of coarse fabric—his shirt—and steps closer now that she knows where he is. He reminds her of the bonfire from the dance: he's radiating warmth and even smells faintly like the smoke because he was sitting so close to the flames at the end of the night. She slowly releases his shirt fabric, but can't lose contact with him and for reasons she doesn't readily understand, lays her hand flat against his chest so she can feel the slight movement of him inhaling and exhaling. The stillness of the night hadn't seemed as severe while they were walking, but now the silence feels heavy and permanent, like something she can't and doesn't want to pierce. But she does need this reassurance that she's not alone in the darkness.

Gale isn't saying anything or backing away from her despite the fact that she's close enough to feel his breath lightly ruffling her bangs; it's like he's waiting for her to do something. She closes the remaining distance between them and realizes that she likes being this close to him. He feels safe and risky at the same time, like he'll protect her from whatever threats the darkness is concealing, but at any moment he might purposefully make her feel bad for being unforgivably richer than him. And even that volatility is thrilling because he's such a contrast to the calm of her life. He's the chaos of the Seam dances to her carefully composed intermission music.

Feeling bolder, she moves her other hand onto his chest as well and is rewarded by the light pressure of his hands on her waist, pausing and then slowly gliding up her sides, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. There's something freeing about the darkness and not being able to see what he's thinking, just exploring and being explored. She slides her hands up to the collar of his shirt until she reaches the skin of his neck, and tentatively runs her fingers over his prickly stubble, so different from her own skin. His hands migrate into her hair, already disheveled from dancing and falling out of the constraining ribbons into what she assumes at this point only counts as a partial ponytail.

Or a former ponytail: Gale unties the remaining ribbon, freeing her hair. Madge suddenly feels exposed, and even more alarming is how much she likes the feeling, as well as the soft movement of Gale combing through her locks. She tries to step even closer to him, but there's no space left and she realizes she's basically just pressing against him. A horrible thought occurs to her: _does this count as being loose?_ Standing around in the dark with Gale Hawthorne? After she'd already collapsed on top of him in the dirt at the dance! Plagued by an onslaught of second thoughts about what she's doing, she quickly retracts her hands and takes a step backwards, relieved that her red face isn't visible in the darkness.

"I can't see anything," she says unsteadily. How did she lose herself so thoroughly in such a short span of time? She hasn't been acting like herself all evening.

Gale doesn't respond at first, though she can hear him breathing unevenly. Maybe he's surprised, too. Or maybe he does this and more all the time with girls and is just shocked that Madge is going along with it. Or maybe he's offended that she backed away from him.

But when he speaks, his tone sounds controlled. "Here." She feels him reach toward her and gently pull one of her hands into his. "I could walk this road blindfolded."

They might as well be blindfolded, it's so dark. Still, she clutches his hand and follows carefully behind him toward the faint glow of the town square. She's hyper aware of how right it feels to hold his warm, callused hand, in contrast to Harold's cold, sweaty hand, and wonders if they could pause and go back to doing whatever they were doing before she flipped out...

She doesn't realize Gale has stopped walking until she bumps into him.

"Sorry—"

"Shhh!" He reaches back to steady her, and she feels his hand on her waist as though it's burning a hole through the thin fabric of her dress. But he seems to be focusing on something up ahead that Madge can't see. Suddenly, he's pulling her off to the side of the road behind a tree. She feels panic start to rise in her chest—he said he'd protect her and here he is, roughly dragging her off—

He's not even touching her anymore. She sees him peering around the side of the tree into the shadows, and she can vaguely make out that some of the shadows are moving. Her eyes are slowly becoming better able to discern details in the darkness, and she realizes one of the shadows is wearing a Peacekeeper uniform. And the silhouette of the other figure is female. Skinny, for sure, but unmistakably smaller and curvier.

Madge gasps quietly when the Peacekeeper says, "Same time next week, girlie," accompanied by the clink of coins being exchanged.

She had no idea things like this happened in District 12, and the knowledge makes her stomach flip. Other districts, yes, but not 12. It's against the rules and her father would never stand for this kind of thing! Gale is still watching the road closely so she focuses on trying to breathe normally in case there are any other Peacekeepers nearby who don't want to be caught.

Gale finally turns back to her, the fury visible on his face now that her eyes are better adjusted to the low light.

"Did you see who they were?" she whispers. "We should report that Peacekeeper!"

"That wouldn't stop it from happening," he says sharply before slumping against the tree with a scowl. "She needs money, he has it."

Madge doesn't know what to say. She tentatively reaches for his arm because he looks so upset, and is encouraged when he doesn't pull away. But the contact draws his attention back to her. "That's something we don't _have in common_. You'd never have to do that."

She can't even imagine it. Doesn't want to. And now thanks to his comment, she probably will.

"You wouldn't either," she points out. Wrong thing to say, apparently. He pushes her hand off his arm and glares at her. It slowly dawns on her that he could be worried about Katniss. "Katniss would never—"

"No," he agrees, clearly not even considering the idea. "But I have a kid sister… I just hope she turns out to be half as tough as Katniss." He swallows anxiously and Madge pictures a miniature Katniss scowling the way Katniss does when they get assigned double problem sets in math.

"What if something happens to me?" he says quietly, his voice distant as though he's talking to himself. "What if she had to take out tesserae and it still wasn't enough?" He suddenly seems to register that he's standing in the dark with Madge, and emerges from his daze to glare at her again. "I bet you've never taken tesserae," he accuses.

Of course she hasn't; she's the _mayor's daughter_. "What, you want me to sign up for tesserae? That wouldn't change anything."

"You should do something more. Going to a play and to a dance don't count, in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't," she snaps. "But I do think our district shouldn't have so many divisions—the play and the dance don't solve anything, but they're a start and they certainly don't hurt."

"Empty gestures," he says sourly, still slumped against the tree and lost in his own thoughts.

"We wouldn't even be talking if not for the play and the dance," Madge points out. Not to mention doing whatever else they were just doing in the darkness together, which she doesn't even have words for.

But Gale doesn't respond, and when it becomes clear that he's just going to lean against the tree and stew in his frustration over things neither of them can change, Madge peers out on her own to see if anyone else is visible.

"I need to get home. My parents are probably worried." Understatement, but she doesn't dwell on that. Not seeing any other movement in the shadows, she leaves their hiding spot and starts walking back on the road, only progressing a few steps before Gale falls in line next to her. "You don't need to walk with me anymore, we're close enough."

She can see well enough now that she can avoid tripping and can keep her bearings toward the fuzzy, dark-tinged-with-yellow air up ahead. But Gale ignores her and keeps walking, which she decides to not fuss about because he seems like the stubborn type and the air between them already feels prickly.

Also, the idea of creepy Peacekeepers lurking in the underbrush is still unsettling. They're supposed to be the ones making sure everyone else follows the laws… Although she's also seen them in that dirty shack where Katniss and Gale sometimes go after they've been hunting—the Hag? the Bob?—so they do break some rules. And her father knows about that shack… With a chill, she wonders if her father does know about what happens between some of the Peacekeepers and Seam girls in the shadowy corners of the district. He gripes about the Peacekeepers periodically, and how he has no say over their activities—they're fully under the authority of the Head Peacekeeper. Maybe her father knows but can't do anything about it… It's a disturbing thought, and occupies Madge for the rest of their walk.

As they approach the lights of the town square and the Undersee residence, she starts to reconsider the wisdom of Gale escorting her. The lights are blazing at full force in her father's study as well as on the front porch and the living room; he is definitely waiting up for her.

She stops and faces Gale, who's walking with his hands in his pockets and appears to be deep in thought. "Go home."

"I said I'd get you get back—"

She gestures toward her brightly lit house. "Are you in the mood for a friendly chat with the mayor? There's at least the possibility he won't kill you, though he probably wouldn't mind throwing you in jail."

It doesn't take long for Gale to eye the house and the state of Madge's dress and then agree with her assessment of the dangers.

"Fine."

"Thanks for walking back with me," she says automatically, years of lectures on manners from her mother kicking in before she fully processes how awkward this situation is. How should she say good-bye? This wasn't a date, was it? Being pressured into attending a Seam dance, having fun at the dance, conversing with him about topics other than the price of strawberries, lying on the ground laughing with him... Exploring each other in the darkness of the no man's land between town and the Seam… It felt like more of a date than standing around with Harold in Georgia's basement had.

Gale seems similarly confused about what to say, and for a moment looks younger and more vulnerable than usual. Then the cold mask she's used to seeing slides over his features and he says stiffly, "Later, Undersee." He starts backing away.

"Bye," she mutters, taking his parting as confirmation that they weren't on a date. Then she turns to face the scolding of her life at home.

* * *

Her father flings open the front door before Madge even touches the doorknob, and after taking in her disordered appearance he wraps her tightly in a hug. "Are you all right? What happened?"

Guilt stabs her and she tries to look over his shoulder at the grandfather clock in the hallway. Nearly one o'clock in the morning. He probably started worrying at least around eleven… She takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't realize it was so late."

He ushers her inside the house and looks queasy at the sight of her dress. "Madge, what—"

"I'm fine," she says quickly. "Really. My dress got a little dirty, but we can send it to that washerwoman in the Seam who works wonders."

Her father doesn't look entirely convinced and she notices that his tie is loose and the long, thin strands of hair on his bald spot are flying in different directions. Which reminds her that her own hair is probably contributing to his concern so she reaches up to retie her ribbon before remembering she doesn't have it. It must have fallen off when Gale untied it, a fact she's not inclined to mention.

"I didn't mean to worry you," she says, trying her best to sound contrite. "Is Mom…"

"Sleeping." Her father exhales slowly. "I didn't want to disturb her after all the excitement this evening with the play." Madge translates that to mean her mother got a headache and had to take morphling to sleep, which means tomorrow will be another _'No piano, please, dear'_ day. Although that might be the least of Madge's problems tomorrow, because she notices her father standing up a little straighter. She braces for his transition from concern to anger.

"Margaret, I know you went to the Seam," he says sternly. "What have we told you about—"

"I was with other kids from town," Madge jumps in. "There were a bunch of us, we wanted to see what a Seam dance was like."

"I know, I spoke with the Mayfields and the Greens." Georgia's parents and Harold's parents; she can her the accusation in her father's tone at forcing him to call around to track her down. "But you could have easily stopped by to let us know where you were and when you would be returning. I could have sent Barry to escort you."

Madge tries to hide her horror at the idea of being trailed all evening by her father's assistant and feels a surge of relief that she didn't ask for permission to go to the Seam. She already doesn't fit in; having a babysitter wouldn't help. And she wouldn't have been able to see this other side of Gale…

"We were fine, Dad," she says in an attempt at a reassuring tone, noticing that he seems to be comforted by the knowledge that she was theoretically with a group of town kids. "The dance was really fun," she adds tentatively. "The musicians were so talented... Better than I've heard on the Capitol's broadcasts. And, Dad, nobody cared who was from town and who was from the Seam. It was like you wanted with the play…"

Her father sighs and rubs his eyes, looking older and more tired than before. "Well, that's something. Wages are dropping again in the mines. The orders from the Capitol came through tonight. We'll have to hope that the goodwill you saw tonight lasts…"

Madge listens quietly, hoping he'll continue, but he seems to realize he's talking to Madge as opposed to her mother or one of his staff members because he stops and steers her by her shoulders to the staircase. "Bedtime. We'll discuss your punishment tomorrow with your mother."

* * *

Grounded for a month—but where would she go, anyway?—and not allowed to date. Fine; that's a blessing rather than a punishment. She's hopefully leaving District 12 as soon as she graduates, and the only person she'd be interested in dating isn't an option for countless reasons, chief of which being that he's reacted to their impromptu evening together by escalating his previous indifference into outright hostility. She knows times are tough in the Seam lately because of the wage cuts at the mines—Katniss' increasingly skimpy lunches are further confirmation of the all-around hardship—but Madge also wonders if Gale is mad at her symbolically on behalf of his friend Nate, who'd been secretly dating Georgia until her parents put an end to it. That wouldn't make any sense, though—Madge barely even knows Georgia, and certainly can't control what Georgia's parents decree. Still, it wouldn't be the first time Gale had blamed her for something she symbolized. He didn't like her before their evening together and he doesn't like her now. The only difference is that now she cares.

Like Madge, her dress survived the Seam excursion, returning in sparkling white condition from the washerwoman. And it turned out her hair ribbon wasn't actually lost; it must have been tangled in the fabric of dress because it came back with the clean dress, too. All in all, Madge thinks she did pretty well at getting away with her trip to the Seam. She's especially grateful that her parents haven't figured out she was with Gale that night—Mrs. Everdeen apparently hasn't run into her mother—or they wouldn't even let her answer the door whenever Gale and Katniss turn up to sell her family whatever the forest is offering that day.

She starts to both long for and dread their sales calls. Gale is invariably a dark storm cloud of sullen silence in the background while Katniss chats with Madge about homework or with Madge's parents about how cold it's getting these days. Sometimes when Madge answers the door in the company of one of her parents, she watches Gale while Katniss and her mother or father conduct business and she sees that he's watching her, too. Whenever their eyes meet for the few seconds before Gale looks away, she feels that same sense of thrilling risk that overcame her when they stood together in the darkness in no man's land between town and the Seam. Madge even catches him staring at her chest once on a day when she's wearing a V-neck sweater, although when he realizes he's been caught he doesn't look anywhere near her for the next few weeks.

But most of the time it's hard to think that he's same person she saw smiling and dancing, the person she stood with in the dark who told her about his worries about his little sister… Who smelled like a dreamy blend of pine and the smoke from the bonfire… Instead, he's Other Gale, the standoffish one she prefers not to think is the Real Gale who she got a glimpse of that night.

One rainy day after the weather has turned cold, he arrives at her house by himself, armed with a pail and a scowl.

"Katniss is sick," he says in response to Madge's unasked question when she opens the back door.

"Is she all right?"

"Her mom's on it." He wipes away some of the water dripping from his hair onto his forehead. His eyelashes are clumped together and he looks miserable and she wishes she could get him out of the rain.

She opens the door wider. "Do you want to come inside?"

They could sit together in front of the fire in her living room so he could warm up. He could describe to her what the forest is like this time of year and she could give him hot chocolate… She could lay her head on his shoulder and he could run his hands through her hair the way he did before, and that would lead to—

"No."

He isn't even looking at her, focused instead on the pail he's carrying. His refusal echoes through the kitchen and she wonders how she could possibly forget that Gale Hawthorne is an expert at packing the maximum amount of hostility into the fewest number of syllables. _What is wrong with her?_ They'll never snuggle by a fire. He would never even willingly step foot in her house. And if she gets her way, she'll be leaving for the Music Academy as soon as humanly possible. So why does her brain insist on concocting these scenarios?

She forces herself to comment lightly about Katniss being in good hands; everyone in the district is aware of Mrs. Everdeen's healing skills. And then she asks briskly, "So, what do you have today?"

"Mushrooms. Your mom wanted them." He's still looking anywhere but Madge, although it's clear from his tone that he wouldn't be here at all if not for her mother's request.

"How much?"

He tells her and she rummages through the drawer where her mother keeps the grocery money until she comes up with the right number of coins. Returning to the door, she presses them into his hand, which despite the cold and rain is as warm as she remembers. Instead of drawing her hand back, she looks up at him and feels something in her chest leap at how intensely he's watching her. It's not hatred; it's more like an accusation mixed with longing. She hasn't been imagining it. And she can't look away.

"Can't we be friends?" she asks softly, clinging to the tips of his fingers.

"I don't want to be _friends_ , Madge," he says harshly. She sees his eyes widen briefly in surprise as his words shoot toward her, which makes her think that even though his tone is pure insult, his inflection, combined with the way he looks at her, could mean he'd rather be more-than-friends. Since that's impossible, he's left with hating her. That seems to be how his mind works: all or nothing, and since all isn't an option, nothing is what's left.

His surprise doesn't last long though, and seconds later he's pulling his hand back and scowling at her. He pockets the coins and abruptly turns down the stairs without saying good-bye.

She stands rooted in the doorway to watch him retreat into the rain and thinks about how strange it is to be encouraged by what he just said. But she _is_ encouraged, and smiles softly as he glances back over his shoulder to look at her when he reaches the gate.

Because he called her Madge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This story is (loosely) continued in "Tuesday Night in Town."


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